Buch lesen: «His Seduction Game Plan»

One

“Hello, sunshine.”

Ferrin Gainer forced a smile at the man who most days barely recognized her. She’d never been close to her father. He’d lived for football and for the trophies he displayed proudly in their formal living room. Having a daughter had been a huge disappointment to him. Having one who flinched every time a football came flying through the air at her had been an embarrassment.

She’d barely seen him after her parents divorced when she was ten. She was vaguely aware that two of his players—his honorary sons—had been accused of murder some ten years ago when she’d been fifteen. But even that hadn’t made him want to bond with her. In fact, it had only been two heart attacks and a severe stroke that had made him reach out to her.

She was twenty-five and had hoped she’d be past the need for a bond with her father, but let’s face it, she wasn’t. She knew not all of her friends had good relationships with their families, but that was what she wanted for herself.

She and her mom were close. They talked to each other every day. Her mom hadn’t been a huge fan of Ferrin taking a sabbatical from her teaching job at the University of Texas and coming to California to take care of her father, but had understood it.

As a professor of psychology, Ferrin had put herself under the microscope a few times and what she saw...well, it made her mad. She should be able to move on but somehow she couldn’t. She didn’t want to accept the fact that this relationship was horribly broken.

She would fix it.

Dammit.

“Hey, Coach. How are ya feeling today?” she asked. When she was little she’d tried calling him Dad a time or two but he always insisted she call him Coach. Even before her parents divorced.

“I’m okay,” he said, slurring his words. The last stroke had seemed to sap his will. There was something inside him that seemed to be keeping him from recovering. She wondered if not being able to work out and stay physically fit for the first time in his life was affecting him.

She had no idea. He barely talked to her. She was tempted to leave him in the care of the two in-home nurses, but she didn’t want to be that kind of daughter.

And she felt guilty.

She knew if her mom were in the bed, well, Ferrin would be here no matter what. She owed at least as much to the man who’d given her half her DNA.

“That’s good to hear. It’s a beautiful day today so after breakfast, we’re going out to sit in the garden.”

“No.”

She ignored him and went to the windows to open the drapes. Coach liked to keep the room dark; she’d thought at first maybe he had some light sensitivity from the stroke but his doctors informed her he didn’t. The only thing keeping him in the dark was his desire to hide. It was as if there was something emotional inside that was causing him to retreat from the world.

She opened up one heavy drape and then the others. The Pacific Ocean was visible from Coach’s bedroom. The frothy surf contrasting with the deep blue water and the rolling waves promised relaxation. Something that had evaded her since the moment she’d arrived on the West Coast.

“Leave them,” he said again, slurring his words.

She hated hearing him like that. As estranged as their relationship had always been, she’d liked that her dad was strong. And he wasn’t anymore.

“Just while you eat your breakfast. Joy is bringing it up and I’m going to eat with you. You know I don’t like eating in the dark.”

Ferrin had found if she ate with her father then he finished most of his food. She suspected he ate so he didn’t have to talk to her, and she didn’t mind. The doctors said eating well and getting him out of the bed were the keys to his recovery. So she’d do whatever she had to.

“Fine.”

He sounded surly, which almost made her smile. At least he wasn’t pretending to sleep or ignoring her.

“You received another letter from the school yesterday. They are honoring you—”

“No.”

“No?” she asked, pushing the button on the bed that raised the back. The college had refitted his room with state-of-the-art medical equipment after the first stroke. And they’d hired Joy, the housekeeper, as well as two in-home nurses.

“I don’t want their guilt offering,” he said. His words were a lot clearer than they’d been earlier.

She adjusted the sheets over his lap, reached for his empty breakfast tray and placed it on the bed. “It’s not guilt.”

“How do you know?”

She knew guilt. “They’re honoring you, Coach, because you brought a lot of accolades to the school.”

And money.

Winning meant money and her father had been one of the winningest coaches in the history of the college.

“Where’s breakfast?” he asked, slurring again.

She went to the hall and signaled Joy to bring in the food. Joy set everything up and then left.

“I want you to think about accepting this honor,” Ferrin said as she ate her yogurt and fruit.

Her father had a difficult time eating but would accept no assistance from her. It was something she’d learned the hard way. He was slow lifting his right hand to his mouth and he chewed awkwardly. The left side of his face still wasn’t fully functional. But he tried.

“If I take it,” he said, looking up at her, his usually hazy green eyes almost clear, “then that means I’m not going back.”

She didn’t say anything.

He wasn’t going back. But maybe believing he could would help him recover.

“I’m not sure it means that, but we can talk about it later,” she said.

She should try to get some of his players to come up here and talk to him. That would cheer him up, and maybe hearing from the people he’d always wanted to spend time with would give her a key to understanding her father. A man who was still a stranger despite the past two weeks she’d spent living with him.

The doorbell rang as Joy was helping clean up the trays.

“I’ll get it,” Ferrin said, anxious to leave the doom of her father’s room.

* * *

Hunter Caruthers rolled up to the Carmel mansion in the middle of the afternoon. He’d spent the day in the dusty archive room at his alma mater, the University of Northern California, trying to find more evidence to clear his name in the murder of his college girlfriend ten years ago.

All he’d found was that he hadn’t outgrown his dust allergy. Even though his mom had always said he would. He was the youngest son of five from a big old Texas ranching family. His parents loved God, cattle, family and football. Since he’d never really loved the land the way his brothers had, Hunter had started playing football.

He’d found religion in football. He wasn’t trying to aggravate anyone—especially his mom—when he said that, but he saw the world through football. He got that if no one had his back and he was wide open, he’d get the pass and then probably have to face down two or three opposing players by himself. Or he might run like all the demons in hell were chasing him and make a touchdown—become the hero of the game.

Same thing in life.

Sometimes he had to be out in the open, exposed, to make the big plays. There had been one guy who always had his back. Kingsley Buchanan. King had never wavered. He’d always stood right by his side.

They’d been arrested—and then later released—for a crime they didn’t commit and that had sealed the bond between them. Guys always wanted to talk to him about his trophy-winning college career, women wanted to sleep with him because—and he was quoting here—they thought he was “dangerous,” and no one wanted to really get too close to him because questions still remained.

Who had killed Stacia Krushnik? What had Kingsley and Hunter done that night? And answers seemed to be getting harder and harder to come by.

In ten years memories had faded and evidence already in short supply had disappeared.

So that was why he’d parked his Bugatti in the circle drive of the one man who might have answers. The sun was bright—but hell, that was what living in California was all about. He’d been a bit of a hick when he’d first come here. The Pacific Ocean had awed him. Until then, he’d only ever been to the Gulf of Mexico and it didn’t hold a candle to the Pacific.

Now he had a house on the beach in Malibu and when he wasn’t up here in Carmel chasing down the past, he spent a lot of time on his deck watching the ocean.

He knocked on the door, pushing his sunglasses up on his head and scanning the area. The yard was nicely maintained, probably by a service. He’d never known anyone who really spent their time off working in their yard.

The door opened and an air-conditioned breeze wafted out and surrounded him. He put a friendly smile on his face.

“Hello, there,” he said. The woman who’d answered the door was tall—at least five-seven—and had long curly black hair that framed her heart-shaped face. Her eyes were a brilliant blue that was almost the color of the waves he’d surfed at dawn. She had a tentative smile on her face and her lips were full. She had a long neck and wore a thin summer-weight sweater over a pair of khaki-colored shorts that reached midthigh.

Her legs...

They were long, tan, slim. And he had an uncomfortable flash of them wrapped around his hips before he shook his head and stuck his hand out.

He was here for answers, not a woman.

“Hunter Caruthers,” he said. “I used to play football for Coach Gainer and I wondered if he might have some time to chat with me.”

“I’m Ferrin, Coach Gainer’s daughter,” she said. “Come inside and we can talk.”

“Coach has a daughter?”

“Yeah, he does. Be warned I’m nothing like him. Can’t catch, can’t throw, and it’s rumored I’m allergic to all sports.” She led him deeper into the house to a sunny kitchen.

“All sports?”

“As far as I can tell,” she said. There was a teasing note in her voice and the slightest bit of a twang that he recognized.

As they passed the den he noticed a trophy case on one wall as well as photos of Coach Gainer with celebrities, politicians and famous alums. The one Coach had taken with Kingsley and Hunter was notably absent.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked as she gestured to the farmhouse table in the sunny breakfast nook.

“Um... I’d like to just see Coach,” Hunter said.

As cute as she was, Hunter was here on business and flirting with the coach’s daughter had dumb written all over it.

“We have to talk first,” she said.

“Lemonade talk or whiskey?”

She gave him a smile. “Lemonade. What kind of conversations have you had that require whiskey?”

He watched her as she went and filled two glasses with lemonade. “More than you want to know.”

She handed him a glass and sat down across the table from him. “Coach had a stroke earlier this year and I’m not sure what he’d be able to say to you.”

A stroke?

“Is he okay?”

“The doctors say he will be. I’m here to help him recover and get back on track, but he doesn’t like the medicine—never mind that. He has his good days and his bad days. I just don’t know if he will talk to you or not.”

Well, hell. There were times when Hunter thought he was never going to have any peace about Stacia. Maybe that was fair. Maybe the universe was leveling things out because he hadn’t been able to protect her.

He didn’t know. Even his mom with all her faith couldn’t help him figure this one out.

“Can I try?” Hunter asked at last.

“Yes,” Ferrin said.

He finished his lemonade, but noticed she didn’t touch hers and that she kept staring at him.

Hell.

Did she recognize him?

“I don’t know all of Coach’s players. When did you play for him?”

“Ten years ago,” he said. He really didn’t want to mention Stacia until he had a chance to talk to Coach.

“Were you one of his famous players?” she asked.

“Sort of?”

“NFL, right? Quarterback?” she asked.

“No, that was my friend Kingsley. I was a wide receiver,” he said. Apparently she didn’t recognize him from the Frat House Murder scandal.

“Dad will be happy to see you. Let me take you to him,” Ferrin said, leading the way out of the kitchen. He tried to keep his eyes on the framed team portraits that lined the wall next to the curving stairs but his gaze kept skipping back to her hips. Her clothing wasn’t at all come-hither, but the way she moved drew him.

She paused at the top of the stairs. “This is your team, right?”

He leaped up the last two steps and stood next to her. Yeah, that was them. Before everything had happened. He was standing next to Clive and Kingsley. God, he looked young.

And sappy. Who smiled that big for a group photo?

A guy who thought he was going to be a big-time NFL star and thought the world was his oyster, that’s who.

“That was a long time ago.”

She didn’t respond but continued walking down the hall to the last door on the left. She opened it and gestured for him to stay in the doorway.

“Coach?” she called. “You have a visitor.”

“Who is it, sunshine?” The words were slurred and as Ferrin pushed the door open further, Hunter noticed that the strong coach he remembered was now a shell of that man.

Sunshine? Coach had never seemed the type of man to give anyone a nickname. But he was seeing a different side of him.

“Hunter. He used to play football for you,” Ferrin said.

“Hunter Caruthers?”

“Yes, sir, he wants to talk to you,” Ferrin said. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll see him.”

* * *

Ferrin went downstairs to her father’s den to work while Hunter visited with the coach. She was working on an article for a small magazine that she wrote for, but the ocean just outside the French doors distracted her. So did the man upstairs. She knew few details about Hunter but his piercing green eyes and disheveled dark hair lingered in her mind as she tried to work. Instead of typing in the Word document she had opened she was tempted to launch her internet search engine and see what she could find out about him.

But she knew what she’d find. Athlete, NFL superstar. Probably had more confidence than Hercules after he’d done all of his labors. It didn’t matter that she’d come here to forget her last breakup and figure out her messed-up relationship with her dad. Her mom had made an offhand comment that perhaps by not resolving the past she was repeating it by dating men who were emotionally unavailable.

Ugh.

Her mom was right but still.

Hunter...he intrigued her.

Why?

Because being attracted to a former player was easier to deal with than her dad. She knew that. Her daddy issues weren’t all that exotic or hard to figure out.

It was boring here at her father’s house. Especially since he wouldn’t really see her except at mealtimes.

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, she quickly saved the article she’d been writing and jumped up to see who was coming.

Hunter.

He looked...well, almost angry.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

“You seem upset,” she said.

“Upset? You don’t spend a lot of time with men, do you?” he asked.

“I do,” she said. “Not that it’s any of your business. Why would you say that?”

“Sorry, Ferrin, I’m pissed, not upset. I guess maybe you hang out with a classier group of men than I do.”

She doubted it. Stuffier maybe, but classier? She wouldn’t call the psych department classy. “Pissed, eh? Why? I told you he’s not really recovered yet.”

“I know,” Hunter said, then gave her a look that was, well, calculating. “Coach said that the college had sent everything from his office over here. I was wondering—could I take a look at it?”

“Why?”

“Well, the truth is, I needed some information I thought Coach had. He can’t remember the details but I know that they used to keep track of some of that stuff.”

“What stuff?” she asked.

“Videotapes from workouts at the gym and stuff from the practice field,” he said. “Would you consider letting me look through the boxes?”

“What did Coach say?”

“Nothing. He didn’t answer me when I asked. In fact, he didn’t say much while I was in there,” Hunter said.

That was strange, she thought. “I wonder why. He loves to relive the glory days.”

“I’m searching for some answers about things that happened in old college football days. I was really hoping Coach could help.”

The sincerity in his voice and that tightness in his stance communicated his determination. She thought it over. She had nothing else to do during the day while her father ignored her, and she’d always fancied herself a Nancy Drew type.

“Let me see what I can find out from him,” Ferrin said. She wanted to double-check with Coach and make sure he was okay with her letting Hunter go through his papers. “Why don’t you come back tomorrow?”

He came closer to her then and she noticed how green his eyes were. Like the fields on the first days of spring. He was handsome—there was no denying that—with his thick dark hair, classic features and lightly trimmed beard. His jaw was strong, his nose straight as a blade, his brows thick but not too thick. She wondered if he had the golden triangle proportions. He must. He was one of the handsomest men she’d ever seen.

“Couldn’t you ask now?” he asked, arching one eyebrow at her. “That way we could look and then I’ll take you to dinner.”

“Um...dinner?”

“Yes. I’d like to get know you better, Ferrin. It’s been a while since I’ve done anything fun. Plus I sort of owe you after being a bit of a jerk.”

Fun. He thought dinner with her would be fun. She sighed. “I’ll ask Coach tonight about the papers. He has physical therapy now and then he’ll be napping.”

“Fair enough. I shouldn’t have been so pushy,” Hunter said. He rubbed his hand over his chest, drawing her gaze to the way his shirt fit the muscles of his shoulders.

“So dinner. I’ll pick you up at six,” he said.

“You will? Shouldn’t you ask me?” She wasn’t sure what he was up to. It was clear that he’d changed gears when he realized she wouldn’t be budged. Even knowing he was probably trying to get something from her wasn’t enough to make her say no.

She hadn’t been out on a date in a long time. She’d broken up with Roger before Christmas, and really that relationship had been dying for at least three months before then. If nothing else, going out with Hunter would provide her some distraction from all the gloom that seemed to cling to this house, and to her while she was living in it.

“Apologies,” he said. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?”

She tipped her head to the side, pretending to think it over.

“I guess so.”

“You guess so?”

“You said it yourself. I’m used to classy,” she said. Even though she wasn’t. But she didn’t want to make this too easy for him. With that pretty face and muscled body, she doubted he ever had to work hard to get a date.

“Oh, I’ll give you classy, Ferrin,” he said. “You just wait and see. I’ll be back at six.”

“I’ll be ready at six thirty,” she said.

He threw his head back and laughed. “You’re a minx.”

Doubtful. But she was tired of the same-old, same-old, and Hunter promised something different.

“Six thirty then. Dress classy.”

“As if I’d do anything else,” she said, leading him down the hall. She opened the front door and leaned back against it as he brushed past her. He stopped and leaned down, putting his hand on the bottom of her chin.

Dinner suddenly seemed like more than just a break in the routine. She suspected he might want something from her but that was okay. She wanted something from him, too. A chance to remember she was young and single. Maybe make a memory in California that wasn’t laced with guilt and disappointment.